Requiem for a Red Shirt
by Tenebrielle
Summary: Inspired by the "red shirts" from the Original Series and Olson's death in the film. A young "Red Shirt" dies on an away mission. Kirk, McCoy, and the other officers react to and reflect on her death. Now complete.
1. Prologue

My first published fic, so please be kind! Rated T to be safe, there's some mild swearing. If you don't know what a red shirt is, I suggest checking out the page on Memory Alpha. My red shirt is an original character. The title of this fic was possibly inspired by another Trek fic I *might* have seen posted elsewhere and cannot for the life of me remember where. If it sounds familar to you, let me know so I can give appropriate credit! Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or make any money off of it.

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**Requiem for a Red Shirt**

_Thirty seconds is all it takes. There is a single misstep, followed by a cry of alarm. Leaves rustle ominously. With the smallest of sighs, the ensign collapses before anyone even turns. Kirk shouts for Dr. McCoy, who drops to his knees beside the young woman in the red uniform and goes to work. But there is nothing he can do. He is a moment too late._

"_She's dead, Jim."_

_Kirk stares at him. His mind refuses to process that the young ensign is dead. It makes no sense. She was alive just a moment ago, laughing at one of Kirk's lame jokes. McCoy's face is stormy as he stows his medical tricorder in its accustomed pouch and gets heavily to his feet. The other members of the away team are staring at the three of them: Kirk, McCoy, and the dead ensign. _

_Kirk finally finds his voice. "How?"_

_McCoy sighs. "I'd have to do an autopsy to be absolutely sure, but those spines appear to have released some sort of neurotoxin. She was dead before she hit the ground, Jim."_

_Kirk tears his eyes from the body and looks to his stoic first officer. "Did we get the readings we needed, Mr. Spock?"_

"_Affirmative, Captain."_

"_And the dilithium samples, Lieutenant?"_

"_Aye, sir."_

_Kirk flips open his communicator. "Then let's get the hell out of here."_

_The away party assumes their positions for beam up. Everyone tries not to look at the body of Ensign Johnson. Only McCoy can see the anguish on Jim Kirk's young face._


	2. Kirk

Kirk

_Johnson, Susan Eileen. Ensign, Communications. Age 19. Hometown: Omaha, Nebraska, USA. Parents are Marjorie and Elias Johnson…_

Jim is reading her personnel file. He prides himself on knowing every single member of his crew, from crewman to first officer, personally. But he can't seem to remember Ensign Johnson before she was on the ground, staring up at him with lifeless brown eyes.

Finally, the hazy memories come. Ensign Susie Johnson was always cheerful, if a bit timid. She turned as red as her uniform under Kirk's playful teasing on the few occasions her duty shifts coincided with Kirk's presence on the bridge. He used to kid her about being from Nebraska, saying that she was the only other person on the _Enterprise_ from a place as godforsaken as Iowa.

But Jim Kirk isn't reading her personnel file to remember.

He needs to find her parents' comm frequency. As captain, it is his duty to inform the next-of-kin of any casualties among his crew.

His crew. The five-hundred odd men and women he is responsible for, that he _swore_ to protect. Like he protected Susie Johnson today.

Kirk rests his head in his hands, sagging under the suddenly heavy weight of command. How the hell was he supposed to know that the plants on Phi Antares V could _shoot_ people? Ensign Johnson went on the away mission because Phi Antares' magnetic field, coupled with the strange geology of its fifth moon, wreaked havoc on communications equipment and she happened to be clever with the necessary compensations. A few hours earlier and it would have been Lt. Uhura.

And how the hell was he supposed to tell her loving parents that their daughter had died in the service of the Federation…collecting geological data? It seemed such a high price to pay for something that would just get filed away in some Starfleet database.

Kirk sighs and tries to compose his features into a more appropriate mask. He punches a button on his desk. "Lt. Uhura, please connect me to frequency…"

The pit of his stomach twists uncomfortably as the ensign's father appears on his screen. Captain James T. Kirk wonders if he'd ever get used to the feeling, and secretly promises himself that he never, ever will.


	3. McCoy

Star Trek is still not mine.

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McCoy

Dr. Leonard McCoy was filling out paperwork. He often found it a meditative process, because rarely did it require any thought whatsoever. But today he really just needed a drink. Annoyed with himself, McCoy snorted. He didn't need a drink. Why should he? He had lost patients before. He was accustomed to death. But that didn't mean he didn't feel it every single time.

Especially with a patient like Ensign Johnson, who had been dead before he could have done anything to save her life. He didn't even know her full name until he'd started the autopsy. Ensign Susan "Susie" Johnson, from Communications. She'd looked vaguely familiar when they had assembled in the transporter room for the beam down earlier that morning. Dark hair, wide dark eyes, with a smattering of freckles across her nose. Whoever she was, she must've been healthy because McCoy had only ever seen her around sickbay once or twice. Just further proof that space was disease and danger, wrapped in darkness and silence.

Christ, he was getting philosophical. He really did need that drink.

_Recommend planet be given 'hazardous' status due to aggressive and deadly native lifeforms. Dr. L. McCoy, M.D., CMO, USS Enterprise. _McCoy shoved his completed paperwork (funny how in this day and age of electronics, they still called it paperwork) out of the way and massaged his temples wearily. The Starfleet desk-jockeys seemed to think the best way to honor a dead crewman was by making the CMO fill out endless forms and reports. McCoy had his own system.

Somewhere nearby, his friend Jim was stuck informing the poor girl's family of her death. It was a duty McCoy had often carried out back home in Atlanta, and he would not have wished it on anyone. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a flask. He raised it slightly to the memory of Ensign Susie Johnson, and briefly allowed himself to picture her smiling young face and sparkling dark eyes.

Afterwards he raised the flask again, to forget.


	4. Chekov

Chekov

To Chekov, she would always be the ensign who smiled at him every morning on the way to the bridge. Somehow their duty shifts always aligned so that Ensign Johnson was leaving just as Pavel was arriving. He stepped out of the turbolift; she stepped into the turbolift. Their eyes met briefly as they brushed past each other. And then she would offer him a shy smile just before the turbolift doors closed.

Her smiles were the highlight of Pavel's day.

Pavel would never have _noticed_ Susie Johnson if it had not been for Sulu. Subconsciously, he knew she was smiling at him. The vast majority of the _Enterprise_'s female population smiled at him in that oh-isn't-he-cute-just-like-my-little-brother/cousin/nephew way. Pavel was accustomed to it. He responded automatically with a smile of his own, and continued thinking about integral tables, plotting courses, or tidbits of Russian history.

But one morning, he ran into Sulu while leaving the mess hall and they walked to the bridge together. The scenario played out exactly as it had every day for the past few weeks, but with the audience (Sulu) raising a very Spock-like eyebrow at the proceedings. Sulu waited until lunch before bringing the girl up with Chekov, and a heated argument had ensued. Sulu insisted that she clearly _liked_ Chekov, while Chekov himself argued that Sulu was imagining things: the dark-haired ensign was merely being kind. But now Chekov's interest was piqued and he resolved to find out more about the smiling ensign.

The next morning, Chekov left the turbolift as usual; the young woman entered. But this time, Pavel was in full data-acquisition mode as their eyes met.

The red of her short uniform dress suited her complexion and her hair quite well, Chekov thought. She had delicate features and pale skin, with a dusting of freckles across her nose. Her wavy dark hair was pulled back into a single tail, but was gradually escaping from its confinement into a halo of frizz. Her cheeks went slightly pink under his curious gaze before the turbolift doors closed.

Pavel blinked. She was, in a single inadequate word, perfect. How could he possibly have _never _noticed? He went about his duties on the bridge somewhat dazedly that morning. Kirk recognized the boy's dreamy expression and kidded him about it gently, but Chekov refused to reveal the identity of his crush. Sulu, for his part, managed to elbow his friend into productivity every time Spock was in sight.

It took Pavel nearly a week to work up the nerve to introduce himself. He had constructed an elegant map for his scheme, plotted out neatly on his PADD like one of the _Enterprise's_ courses. It was safely in his pocket as a cheat-sheet.

On the designated afternoon (they had been rotated off morning duty) Pavel's heart was pounding almost as much as it had been when they had first spotted the _Narada_ over Vulcan. He made to step out of the turbolift as usual; he could see the dark-haired ensign approaching—

The _Enterprise_ lurched suddenly. Pavel cursed in Russian as he was slammed into the bulkhead, but managed to keep his footing. Ensign Johnson was not so lucky, and toppled to the floor with a small cry. All thoughts of his carefully laid plan flew out of his curly head.

Pavel offered her a hand up. Her cheeks colored slightly under her freckles as she accepted it, and he helped her to her feet.

"Thanks," she said quietly, smiling shyly at him.

Chekov grinned at her. "Eet's nozzing. I do not beliewe we have met. I am Pavel Chekov."

"Susan Johnson. But call me Susie, everyone does."

The _Enterprise_ lurched again drunkenly, making them both reel. The sirens signaling a red alert began to wail. He smiled at Susie again before sprinting to the bridge.

"Eet vas nice to meet you!" he called over his shoulder.

Susie's dark eyes sparkled with laughter. "See you around!"

Chekov had been plotting his next move in the pursuit of Ensign Susie Johnson during a routine orbit of Phi Antares V. Scotty, who was in command while the Captain and the Commander were planetside, broke Chekov's reverie by sending him down to the transporter room to beam up the away party.

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Today was his first shift without her smile.

Seated at his station on the bridge, Pavel Chekov's vision blurred momentarily as hot, unwanted tears burned his wide brown eyes. He blinked furiously, hoping nobody had noticed. He could see Sulu's concerned look out of the corner of his eye but refused to acknowledge it. Kirk's hand squeezed his shoulder gently before he returned to the captain's chair.

"C'mon kid, let's get out of here."

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A/N: I still don't own Star Trek. Many thanks to my first two reviewers! Everyone else, please review! :)


	5. Sulu

_A/N: Sorry it's been such a long time between updates; I've been super busy with real life. It also took forever to get the tone of this chapter anywhere near right. I hope you all enjoy! I also apologize in advance for using so much fencing jargon and for any errors I've made with regards to foil. Foil is not my primary weapon! :) I highly recommend the Wikipedia article on fencing if you are new to fencing and want to know more about right-of-way or other terms.  
_

_Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. Sadly._

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Sulu

Advance. Advance. Adv-- Wait! In a split second, his opponent's imaginary blade taps his own foil in a beat, reclaiming right-of-way and Sulu is back on the defensive. Retreat. Retreat. Wait for it…waaaait for it.

The attack comes exactly when Sulu expects it. He retreats slightly with the parry, catches it perfectly, and executes a fast advance. But his opponent is clever, and has retreated out of reach for an immediate riposte. Another advance, a disengage to avoid his opponent's parry, and accelerating into the lightning-fast lunging attack.

The tip of the foil hits precisely in the center of the spare glove Sulu has fixed to the bulkhead as a makeshift target. The blade arcs gracefully upward as the tip lands with just enough force to depress the small button on the end and register a touch. He recovers to en garde before tucking the foil under his arm and pushing up his mask in the manner of fencers across the galaxy, with the wire mesh on top of his head and the bib sticking out over his face.

It's 1509, and Pavel is late for their fencing session. Hikaru Sulu is already suited up in his well-worn whites, shadow-fencing idly with a foil to pass the time. He is surprised and slightly concerned. Pavel is never, ever late.

The ship's comm system suddenly crackles to life. Sulu glances up at the nearest monitor with vague interest. He is still mentally analyzing any potential flaws in his form. Captain Kirk's face flickers onto the screen and Sulu snaps out of his contemplations, eyebrows furrowing. Kirk looks grim. He notes it is a decidedly strange expression on the Captain's usually grinning face.

"I regret to inform the crew that Ensign Susan Johnson was killed today during today's away mission. A memorial service for her will be held tomorrow at 1900 for all crew members who wish to attend. It was an honor serving with Susan, and she will be sorely missed."

Kirk's face disappears, and Chekov's lateness has been explained completely. Sulu methodically sets his foil down next to his battered mask and shucks his heavy white jacket. He folds it neatly before setting it down beside the mask and foil and heading for the door.

It was funny how much life was like a bout sometimes, Sulu reflects while he searches for his young friend. A single mistaken advance or retreat, the slightly misplaced attack that lands on jacket instead of conductive lame' can change the outcome of a point, and the entire bout. Equipment malfunction, those infamous gremlins peculiar to foils, can strike at any time and delay the bout interminably. Even in fencing, with its precise rules, random chance can also strike. When a bout ends in a tied score, the director flips a coin to determine which fencer has priority. If nobody scores in the next period, the fencer with priority wins the bout. It's a rule that, in his mind, makes about as much sense as Susan Johnson's death on a routine away mission.

He finds Chekov in the transporter room, staring numbly at the spot where her body had been.

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_Review please!_


	6. Uhura

_Disclaimer: Star Trek isn't mine._

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Uhura

Captain Kirk was giving a eulogy, but Lt. Uhura was not listening. The double irony of the situation was not lost on her. She was probably the most senior officer who had been closest to Susan Johnson, the one who worked with her and knew her best. Surely she should listen to the eulogy. The second irony was that Susie Johnson had been an excellent listener.

Susie had been gifted with an incredibly acute sense of hearing, as well as perfect pitch. Tonal languages, something many of the human cadets in xenolinguistics had trouble with, presented no trouble whatsoever to the young woman. She had a marvelous ear for pronunciation, and could speak several difficult Earth and galactic languages without any trace of an accent. Susie's keen ears were indispensible when attempting to locate and correct signal disturbances in her work in Communications. She even gave the boys down in Engineering a hand every now and then by listening to the machinery and describing unusual sounds and their sources to Engineer Scott.

Uhura smiled slightly at the thought. The engineers had given Susie a plush toy rabbit dressed in a red Starfleet uniform as a thank-you gift once. Uhura remembered her squeal of delight vividly. The same stuffed rabbit was now keeping vigil at Susie's empty station in Communications.

Kirk was speaking now about Susie's ambitions to be a Federation diplomat. Uhura could feel Spock's dark eyes on her; the tip of his thumb just barely caressed her hand. She blinked back tears briefly, his touch evoking more memories.

Cadet Uhura fled back to her room, hoping she did not look as distressed as she felt. Things were heating up with one of her professors. They had to be; the tension between the two of them had become palpable. But it was impossible to tell: the Vulcan did not, could not, show any emotion. It simultaneously frustrated and excited the young woman for reasons she found impossible to explain. But was that cold logic really what she wanted?

Uhura was nearly frantic by the time she reached her door. Somehow her usual calm, cool demeanor had completely vanished. Breathing hard, she punched in her keycode. The door beeped disapprovingly at her. It was locked from the inside. Soft voices, one deeper, one higher pitched, murmured within. Damn it, Gaila!

She knocked on the door vainly, cursing her friend and roommate for locking her out tonight, while her composure is evaporating! Now blinking back tears of frustration, Uhura stormed to the lounge. Hot tears finally burned through her iron will and she collapsed onto the worn couch, crying.

"Are you all right?" a soft voice inquired from across the room.

Mortified, Uhura looked up through reddened eyes to see a dark-haired, freckled human cadet looking at her worriedly. The girl looked somewhat familiar; yes, they had advanced Romulan together. Uhura managed to dredge up her name: Susie Johnson.

"Yes…I mean, no…I mean—I don't know!" Her voice choked off and she began to sob again, hating herself for showing weakness and becoming more upset at her self-loathing.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Uhura stared at her earnest young face incredulously. And before she knew it, all of her thoughts and fears came bubbling to the surface and spilled out into the sympathetic ears of Susan Johnson. She told her everything: about her anger with Gaila, her confusion about Spock…everything. The other cadet said nothing throughout Uhura's rambling speech. She didn't laugh, she didn't judge, she simply listened. She simply listened until Uhura had finished. And to Uhura's intense relief she never, ever mentioned it again.

Lt. Uhura stood at attention with everyone else as Captain Kirk added a new nameplate to the memorial list begun by the _Narada_. Difficult as it was, she was listening now.


	7. Scotty

_A/N: Wow, two updates in one day! I hope you all enjoy Scotty's accent, I've never attempted a Scots accent before and spellcheck nearly had a conniption over it! _:)

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Scotty

"Go on, Scotty, what were you just telling us? About the rabbits?"

"Oh, aye. Susie wa' quite the girl fer our foorry friends. She was mad fer them! Especi'ly rabbits," Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott replied with a hearty laugh. "One time, me an' some o' the lads decided to play a wee joke on the lassie."

He waved for the bottle again, and took a large gulp of scotch before setting it down to one side so that his hands were free to gesture.

"So as I wa' sayin', the lass use ta coom down here an' help me oot with th' machinery some days. She ha' th' ears of a fox, an' she could tell when things wernae right. One day she says t'me, she says," Scotty cleared his throat and put on his best attempt at a Midwestern American falsetto, interspersed with flecks of his thick brogue, " _'Mister Scott, it soun' like you've got a bunch of critters in there! Something's joomping aroun' in there like a bunch o' rabbits!'_"

"O' course, it were nothin' o' the sort. So one day me and the lads, we started collectin' rabbits. Remember tha' trip ta Starbase K7, wi' the live cargo? I'twas rabbits! We ware gooin' ta borrow th' little beggers an' put 'em all aroond Engineering, th'n call Susie down here li' we ha' a problem, an' spring them on her!"

The engineer twinkled around at the group before winking at Chekov and taking another swig of the bottle.

"But that bonny lass, she beat us a' our own game! Tha' mornin', I get a call doon from th' bridge. She says," (Scotty broke out the falsetto again) " _'Bridge to Mr. Scott_.' An' I say, _'Scott here'_, an' she goes _'Mr. Scott, Mr. Spock would like a word, could ye coom up to th' bridge?' _An' I said, '_Is it oorgent? I'm in th' middle of mah warp core tests tha' th' Captain wanted.'_ An' she says, _'No sir, it's not urgent. Mr. Spock joost wants to know why there are all these rabbits on th' bridge!'_"

Peals of laughter rippled through the room as Scotty gestured comically and put on an exaggerated look of surprise. Silence, but for a few titters, quickly fell as he continued the tale.

"Now I ha' nae idea wot was gooin' on, but I said _'I'll be right up,'_ an' ran up to th' bridge. An' sure enough, there's Spock sittin' in th' captain's chair wit' tha' eyebrow raised an' near up t' th' tips o' those ears in rabbits! I ha' never seen so many o' th' little beggers in mah life! I couldnae think of anythin' t' say, an' there was Susie bright red at the comm station, tryin' t' keep a straight face! To this day, I dinnae ken how she did it, nor how she got Spock to play along!"

Scotty was shaking with suppressed mirth by the end of his story, and promptly began to roar with laughter as soon as he had finished. Everyone but Chekov joined in. Scott quickly noticed the boy's sad expression.

"Sweet on the young lass, were you?" he asked kindly, though he already knew the answer.

Chekov looked at the floor. "I yust do not feel like laughing, ser."

Scott's dark eyes were far away for a moment as he remembered another girl, in another place long gone. His voice was surprisingly gentle as he replied.

"I think I understand. But ask yerself, laddie. Would ye rather laugh…or cry?"

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_As always, much love to my reviewers. Just one chapter to go after this! Please review!_


	8. Spock

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. The muses were not kind to Mr. Spock...I think I wrote more drafts of this than I did of my senior thesis. Minor swearing below, just so everyone's aware.  
And sadly, Star Trek is still not mine._

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Spock

"It is your move, Captain."

"How many times have I told you? Don't answer that. On chess night, it's _Jim_."

"That does not alter the fact that it is your move, Jim."

"I'm thinking," Kirk replied, the emotion known as 'irritation' becoming evident in his voice.

The Captain was usually quite adept at picking up Spock's subtle vocal inflections, the only of the half-Vulcan's mannerisms to betray his controlled emotions. But this is the second time in as many minutes that the Captain failed to recognize the injection of humor into one of Spock's statements. Kirk was fidgeting in his seat; his blue eyes, now narrowed upon the tri-dimensional chessboard, often wandered. Perhaps it was all related, Spock mused. The Captain did seem to be displaying the classic symptoms of human distraction. A lack of focus would certainly account for his atrocious chess game that evening.

Kirk finally made a move. "There, you happy?"

Spock shifted his shoulders in the smallest of shrugs and made a counter-move. "Checkmate."

"Bullshit!" the Captain exclaimed, examining the board glumly. He sighed deeply.

Spock studied him for a moment before he decided to take the initiative. "Cap—Jim, may I inquire as to the source of your current distress?"

The Captain's nickname still sounded strange coming from Spock's lips. It took a moment for the Captain to sort out the Vulcan phrasing of the question. To Spock's surprise, the blue eyes glimmered faintly with 'humor'.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Indeed."

"Okay…here it goes," Kirk sighed and leaned back heavily in his chair. "Is there any way I can…turn off emotions?"

The Vulcan was surprised to hear those words coming from emotional and impulsive James T. Kirk. "Would this request be related to Ensign Johnson's recent death, Jim?"

The Captain looked profoundly uncomfortable. "I've just been thinking. I'm only twenty-six. I could be in command for a really long time."

"One would hope," Spock said dryly, channeling his inner Doctor McCoy. Kirk could not hide a smirk.

"Seriously, there are going to be more casualties over the next however many years. The Federation is all about peace and non-violence and whatever, but we're on a _warship_. And frankly," Kirk paused for a moment, his eyes falling to his hands. "I don't know if I can take it."

Kirk continued after a moment. He still could not bring himself to look at his first officer. "Susie—Ensign Johnson's death was…hard…to deal with. Contacting her parents was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. And don't get me started on the memorial. The _Narada_ was one thing; this is…more personal."

His hands curled themselves into fists as he finally met Spock's cool brown gaze. "Spock, I just don't know if I can, if I _want_, to go through that every time some poor crewman…"

Jim's voice trailed off as he looked pleadingly to his first officer. Once again, Spock could not help feeling a small measure of surprise. It was very much unlike the James Kirk he knew to admit weakness. Or ask for help. Particularly from _Spock_. He weighed his words carefully before speaking.

"Emotions cannot simply be turned on or off like a switch. There are…techniques I could show you. But I do not believe this course of action would be in the best interest of the crew."

"How so?"

"I have reason to believe Dr. McCoy would demand you submit to a psychiatric evaluation if you suddenly began practicing Vulcan logic."

"Spock…was that a _joke_?"

"Vulcans do not joke," Spock retorted, but the tiniest of twinkles in his eye betrayed him. "Perhaps an example would be more illuminating."

"Huh?"

"For instance…allow me to suggest that there is such a thing as an acceptable loss of life."

"Come again?" An edge crept into Kirk's voice.

"In order to complete certain objectives, there is a margin of loss that is acceptable. A certain number of casualties—"

Red faced and angry, Kirk was on his feet before Spock finished his sentence. "Bullshit! Not on my ship, Mister. Any casualty is too many, why—"

The Captain's angry tirade fizzled out as he realized the Vulcan was doing nothing to defend his opinion. Realization slowly began to spread over his face, and he sat down again sheepishly.

"I believe that as you are now, you are in a much better position to act in the best interest of the crew."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Kirk smiled slightly and stood to leave. "As usual."

As he left, he paused for a moment in the doorway and looked back at his first officer. Spock watched him, his left eyebrow beginning to creep skyward.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"How _did_ she convince you to let her put rabbits on the bridge?"

"She made a series of logical arguments in favor of the occasional human practical joke with regards to crew morale. I was initially skeptical of the idea, but upon further examination, her logic proved sound. It was quite remarkable, really, for a human."

Kirk goggled at him for a moment, and then grinned. "Scotty totally owes me a drink."

"Captain?"

"_Jim_. Never mind. Thank you, Spock."

"I believe the expression is 'any time,' Jim."

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_I originally thought Spock would be the last chapter, but plans have changed and there's one more in the works. Review please! _


	9. Coda

_A/N: Here you are, the last chapter! As I mentioned previously, I had originally planned to end with Spock. Kirk had other plans. Many thanks to all my readers and especially those of you who reviewed. E grazie a tutti gli italiani che hanno letto il mio racconto! _

_Disclaimer is the same as ever.  
_

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Kirk

To his recently-acquired captain's eyes, it seemed a poor memorial. Just a simple plaque, followed by rows of simple metal nameplates that slowly oxidized in the ship's atmosphere. So small, and yet purchased by so dear a price…

"You okay, Jim?"

Startled out of his reverie, Jim turned at the familiar voice. Dr. Leonard McCoy was eyeing him with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine."

He glanced back at the (thankfully) small wall of names he had been contemplating a moment ago. One of them, shinier than the others, stood out slightly. Feeling Bones' gaze on his neck, Jim gave himself a mental shake and smiled at his friend.

"Chekov called down a minute ago; said we're in orbit. We'd better get up there."

McCoy shrugged, and they headed to the turbolift. Jim thumbed the button.

"What're you doing down here, anyway?" McCoy asked as soon as they were inside.

Jim still felt strangely thoughtful as he replied. "Reflecting, I guess."

McCoy's incredulous look precluded the need for a question. Jim couldn't help grinning.

"What? I do _occasionally_ look before I leap!"

Bones snorted. With good reason, Jim conceded.

"I went to read the names. It helps…remind me what we've got at stake. You know, on away missions and stuff."

Jim felt thoroughly uncomfortable as the humor rapidly ebbed out of the conversation. He hated talking about feelings and all that crap. But hell, if he could do it with _Spock_, why not Bones?

McCoy acknowledged the seriousness of his statement, but could not keep the twinkle out of his eyes as he replied.

"Jim, I think that might be the most mature thing you've ever said!"

The air lightened again and Kirk chuckled. "Yeah, you're probably right."

The turbolift beeped, ending the exchange and signaling their arrival at the bridge. Jim took a deep breath and squared his broad shoulders.

The door opened, and Captain James T. Kirk stepped jauntily onto the bridge. He acknowledged the many _good morning, sirs_ with a grin and a wave. First Officer Spock was already standing in straight-backed Vulcan serenity beside the captain's chair with cute little Yeoman Munro, who was doubtless trying to get Kirk's signature for some forgotten form.

Kirk nodded to his first officer and dropped into his chair. He glanced briefly at the yeoman (with Spock standing there, he couldn't do much else) before grabbing the tablet and scrawling his name where she indicated.

Yeoman Munro scurried away as quickly as Kirk released the stylus, stopping only to flash a very quick smile at someone over Kirk's shoulder. He ran an appraising eye over her figure as she fled. Turning back to face the viewscreen, he caught a sheepish Ensign Chekov in the act of doing the same. Kirk grinned at him, and waited until most of the bridge crew was looking back at their stations before flashing the kid a thumbs-up. Kirk knew Bones and Uhura were rolling their eyes somewhere behind him. Spock raised an eyebrow at him, but Kirk pretended not to notice.

"Status, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked.

"We are in standard orbit around Nettuno II. The planet is class M, though apparently uninhabited by intelligent life and largely unexplored. We have orders to carry out a brief survey of local geology and biology to investigate if the planet merits further study by the Federation."

"Apparently uninhabited?" Dr. McCoy's sardonic drawl cut in. "Wouldn't that be a good thing to know for sure _before_ we beam down?"

Spock turned to face the doctor. "Repeated sensor scans indicate the planet is devoid of cities or villages, power sources, or technology of any sort. Per Starfleet regulations, I believe this qualifies as 'uninhabited,' Doctor."

McCoy's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to retort. Kirk raised an intervening hand from his seat between them, smirking. It was amazing how long the Vulcan and the doctor would bicker, if left to their own devices.

"But just in case the sensors are wrong, they want us to check it out?"

"That is correct, Captain."

"Great. Just _great_."

"Oh come on, Bones. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Down in Sickbay, I'd expect. Which is where I should be, not following you around on one of your fool adventures."

Kirk chuckled at the doctor's morose expression and hopped out of his chair.

"Ready to go where no man's gone before, Mr. Chekov?"

"Aye, ser!" came the enthusiastic response.

"Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir."

Spock fell in step with Captain Kirk as they headed for the transporter room, followed by McCoy and Chekov. Kirk jumped the step onto the transporter platform. As usual, the Vulcan went immediately to his side. The two security officers, Amundsen and Ito, were already there and in position for beam down. To Kirk's amusement (and great relief), Chekov was practically bouncing with excitement. Chief Engineer Scott was smiling at him as he evaded McCoy's questions about the transporter's recent maintenance history.

Here they were, all ready and willing to venture into the unknown. Despite the potential risk, the potential cost. It was a much more fitting requiem, Captain Kirk thought, than bits of metal stuck on a bulkhead. He straightened his shoulders proudly before giving the order to send them to the alien world below.

"Energize."

* * *

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